


My Best Friend's Girl

by areyouserial



Category: Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:40:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9430961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouserial/pseuds/areyouserial
Summary: A party Cameron never wanted at his house brings him closer to Sloane and sparks a moment they can’t take back.





	

“See, I told you!” She huffs after she pulls open the cabinet. Her hand drops with a smack on her thigh and she gives his insulted look to the shelves overhead.

Shifting against the ledge of the countertop, I turn to glance at what has her so offended. “What?”

“Someone is using my mug. I know it.” She looks at me, one eyebrow drawn up in confusion. “I come in here in the morning and it’s on the top shelf. When I put it away, I always put it on the bottom.”

My brow furrows as I sip from my own mug, the one I bring from home everyday, and assess the collection in the cabinet. “Weird.”

“Why don’t you share my outrage about this?”

I smack my fist on the counter. “Let’s fuck him up, Sloane!”

The smile curves her lips, flashes in her dark eyes before she exhales a soft giggle. “So…” She turns to the cabinet once again and lifts up on her toes to reach for the top shelf. “You need me to bring anything for your party tonight?”

With an idle gaze, I just stand there and watch her, amused at how long she’ll attempt to stretch her arm and still not be able to grasp her cup. Finally, she drops back down on her heels with a huff. “Cameron.”

I laugh as I reach over her head and pull the mug from the top shelf for her. There’s a flare of heat in the pit of my gut when she teases me with a slanted glare and her fingers flick at my suspenders, snapping one strap at my chest.

“It’s not my party, it’s Ferris’s,” I tell her from behind my coffee cup.

“It’s at your apartment.”

“It’s not my party.” I shrug. “I want nothing to do with it.”

“So then why do you let him throw parties at your place?”

For a moment, my stare sort of glazes over while I watch her make herself a cup of coffee. Clearing my throat, I blink it away. “It’s my fault for having a loft in Wicker Park.”

“Mm.” She hums at the counter and I hate when it’s like I can feel it, where she just makes a noise and it lingers in my ears. “What a curse,” she muses.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter.

“You know he does these things for you.”

I cough a skeptical laugh. “For me?”

“Yeah.” She flashes a smile over her shoulder, then turns to face me. Her eyes glow like a trick I fall for every time and I have to glance down to dull the sensation. “He can’t take it if he thinks you haven’t seen anything good.”

Glancing up at her, I manage a time-killing swallow and feel the upward tick at the corner of my lips, mirroring hers. “You know what I wanna see?”

“What?”

“An empty apartment.” I point my cup at her. “Just me. Friday night. The Red Wings are playing tonight. Why’s that too much to ask? I’m twenty-seven years old, I got Ferris throwing parties at my house like it’s high school all over again.”

“Then stop letting him.”

“Ah,” I grumble with a shake of my head. “Ferris does what he wants, you know that.”

She sighs. “Yeah.” I don’t miss the way her gaze cuts over with a roll of her eyes. “So what do _you_ want?”

“I just told you.”

“To watch hockey by yourself.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s it?”

Pausing, I run a hand over my jaw, absently scratching my fingertip across my bottom lip. “Essentially, yeah.”

She laughs softly.

“What, you _want_ to go to this party?” I question her. “Ferris and those clients of his and the whole sales team with all their bullshit--”

“Shh!” Sloane’s eyes widen and she glances to the door of the kitchen. “Cameron.”

“What?” I shrug. “He’s too good for our break room. He uses the one on 20 now.”

“Talking shit about the boss’ son.” She baits me with a narrowed, shiny gaze and it’s fucking sexy and I should be at my desk right now so I can put a stop to miserable thoughts like that.

“Spare me,” I mumble.

“Sloane.” Someone from her documentation department rounds the corner and sticks his head inside the room. “You’re supposed to be in this meeting.”

“Oh right.” She picks up her coffee mug from the counter. “I’m on my way.”

“Slacker,” I murmur over the rim of my cup.

She makes a face at me then reaches up to pinch my shoulder. As she passes, her fingers slide beneath the back of my suspenders where, just barely, she snaps them once more. “I like these,” she calls out, making her way to the door.

Fuck. 

The truth is I’ve been in love with Sloane since sophomore year of high school. But I’ve made this habit of never being honest with myself so that feeling was buried deep in some off-limits corner of my heart, locked away with a deadbolt. I felt like an asshole if I ever let myself acknowledge it. 

It’s never okay to want your best friend’s girlfriend. 

Although, that’s not quite what she was lately. I don’t know. Ferris and Sloane were so up in the air. He actually gets sort of irritated whenever anyone calls her his girlfriend. 

Combine that with the fact that all three of us work together -- him in sales, me and Sloane in IT and documentation at Ferris’s dad’s firm -- and I’d be a fucking dumbass to act on any feelings for her I might harbor.

And speaking of being a fucking dumbass…

That night, I stand against my kitchen counter and watch Ferris meticulously align rows of wine glasses while a handful of people dressed in all black dart around my apartment with trays and food and ice and all kinds of shit for this party.

“You don’t need to do a thing, friend,” he assures me. “I’ve got it all taken care of.”

“Couldn’t you use plastic?” I eye the glasses with visions of them being knocked to the floor by my drunk co-workers.

“These aren’t even yours,” he explains with a smile. “The whole thing’s catered. Relax, man. Live a little.”

“Oh, I’m going to relax,” I tell him. “I’ll be in my room all night, don’t come looking for me.”

“No, no, no, I’ve got a job for you.”

“You tell me I can relax, and then you give me a job.”

“It’s not really a job,” he starts. “But I need you to hang out with Sloane if she gets… you know.”

“If she gets what?”

“This client I’ve got coming…” Then he lifts his eyebrows and nods at me. “We hooked up the other night. And she’ll be here tonight, and there might be a round two, is all I’m saying.”

“Not in my apartment, there won’t be.”

“No, man. Last time, we went back to her hotel,” he says. “Talk about closing the deal, am I right?”

I tip my head back and chuckle this big fake laugh up at the ceiling before I settle my unimpressed look on him. 

He laughs, reaching over to stab a toothpick through an olive at the makeshift bar before he pops it in his mouth.

“So what, you’re prostituting yourself out to make a sale now?”

“No, I mean I like her.” He shrugs. “And if I get a contract too, then it’s like win-win.”

“Sick.”

“I’m a free man.” Defensively, he lifts his shoulders. “Am I not?”

“Hey, I’ve never quite understood what rules you live by.”

“Sloane knows that I’m dating other people. So I’m not a dick.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I’m not trying to blatantly pull this other chick in front of Sloane though--”

“ _Pull this other chick--?_ ” I echo.

“So just… keep her busy. Alright?”

I feel the slope of my brow when I look at him. “Keep her busy.”

“Distract her… I don’t want to upset her. You know what I mean.”

“I’m gonna be up in my room. Sloane has other friends. I’m not gonna plan fucking activities so that you can try to get in some girl’s pants with a clear conscience. You wanna fuck some new girl? Fine, but that’s on you when you know your ex-girlfriend’s in the same room. So figure it out.”

“Fine.” He shrugs. “But I’m just trying to move on. I figured you’d understand.”

I look at him for a quiet moment, and then offer a pensive nod as I back away from the counter.

“How long has it been since Julie?” He calls after me. 

“No, no, this isn’t about me.”

“I’m just asking.”

I lift my hands and my lazy pace carries me to my pinball machine against the brick wall. “What does it matter?”

“It matters, man. Eighty-five years? Eighty-six...”

I exhale a laugh and absently flick the side buttons there. “Exactly.”

“I’ve been there.”

“No, you haven’t been there.”

“Alright, so I’ve never been engaged,” he says. “But I know what it’s like to be hung up on someone.”

“I’m not hung up on Julie, Ferris. I assure you. That ended a long time ago.”

“All the more reason to find someone new,” he points out. “And you could find her at the party tonight. Who knows?”

“How did we get on this topic? Why are we talking about me?”

He grins with his little joker laugh and I have to chuckle at him. 

“You’re a fucking conman. Thought I was babysitting Sloane tonight.”

“Ah, she’ll be fine.” He waves a hand and steals one more olive. 

I know she won't be fine, but I try to force myself out of it. Sloane doesn't usually come to me with her problems with Ferris anyway. So I stay, as promised, in my room for the night while the party surrounds me downstairs. It's kind of difficult to truly stay out of it when I live in a damn loft and my bedroom is open to the noises down below. 

The downtown Chicago skyline lights the room through oversized windows. It's packed down there, half with people from our office, but then half with people I'd never seen before. It about gives me a damn panic attack to think about all of them and the one bathroom that's downstairs. 

 

The night shifts from eating and music and laughing, to finally fewer people, but way more drinking. I can tell just from the voices and way people are cackling and shouting their stories. And what's some real bullshit is that Ferris left like an hour ago. And this party is still happening. I hear Dan from marketing because I know that laugh from a mile away, it makes me want to murder someone. 

 

Then I hear Sloane's squealy, squeaky giggle. That true one that I know where she tips her head back and tosses her hair and pounds her feet on the floor. I can see it when I hear it. I guess she's doing okay. 

All the voices blend together but I concentrate for a moment on the collective shift down there when it seems like everyone's debating heading somewhere else. 

"I don't care. I don't care!" I hear Sloane's voice shout. "He can do whatever he wants, we're not together. We're not together!"

I pick up the empty beer bottle from my nightstand and swing my legs off the bed. When I make my way to the railing that overlooks the living space below, I see Sloane perched on one of the barstools at my kitchen counter with her head in her hands over a martini glass, And there's fucking Dan beside her. He reaches for the silver martini shaker that sits on the counter and pulls her empty glass over to strain another drink into it while he mumbles something into her hair. 

And that's when my feet carry me down the winding staircase. I head for the kitchen and I'm greeted by the half dozen or so co-workers who linger there. 

"Cameron!" They all cry.

 

Dan picks his head up, squinty-eyed, and points at me. "King of the castle! Excellent party, man. We're headed out in a minute to Beat City. You should come with. That place is the _shit_."

 

I wait for Sloane to join in. I don't want to make a scene about pulling her away from them, but it's clear she's not okay. "You know, that sounds awesome," I manage. "But I'm good here. You guys should go."

 

"Alright, beautiful,” Dan murmurs as he drapes his arm around Sloane's shoulders and urges her against him. “You're with me. Let's go." Her head flops onto his shoulder and she groans before letting out a pathetic little laugh. 

 

"She's good, she's good here, too," I insist, lifting his arm off of her and laying it across my own shoulders as I escort him toward the door. 

 

"Nah, no, no, she's having fun. Just needs some fresh air. Come on, Sloane," he beckons, calling back over his shoulder.

 

Fuck Ferris for leaving me with this to deal with tonight. 

 

"Cameron, I want you to come." Her weary voice calls out from where she stays on her stool.

 

"Come on, man." Everyone just sort of follows me and ambles their way with us toward the door. It's like I'm a sheep dog. 

 

"I'm gonna pass, guys." It takes all of my will not to be an asshole and just tell them to get the fuck out. The only thing keeping me from it is not wanting to embarrass Sloane in front of people she'd have to see again on Monday. "And I'm gonna grab a cab for her." 

 

"Dan, just let Sloane go home," another girl he's with -- someone I've seen in sales, I think -- speaks up. "I think she's done."

 

"She'll be fine." I clap my hand hard on Dan's shoulder and pull open my door. "You guys be safe. Enjoy your night..." I ramble on some more good-byes before I swing the door closed behind everybody and exhale a heavy sigh. "Eat shit, Dan."

 

Scratching the back of my head, I make my way back to the kitchen, surveying the state of my apartment on the way. Sloane still sits there, her head down on folded arms on top of the counter, her mussed dark hair hiding her face.

 

"Sloane Peterson, look alive," I holler through cupped hands. I laugh softly to myself and start to collect a few empty beer bottles from a corner table. 

 

She moves just a little, then pushes herself up to prop her elbows on the countertop before she sweeps a hand through her hair. 

 

"What can I get you?" I call out.

 

Slowly she blinks, furrows her brow and then glances around the kitchen. "Where'd everybody go?"

 

I look at her for a moment until her eyeline catches mine. When it does, she eventually offers a slanted little smile with sleepy eyes.

 

"They're gone," I tell her, amused. "It's two a.m." From the refrigerator, I pull out a bottle of water and set it in front of her, but she gives it sort of a nauseated look.

 

"And Ferris left." She says it and I wonder if she witnessed him leave, or if she was left to figure it out.

 

I stand against the rim of my sink and answer with a slow nod. "Yeah. He left."

 

She nods with me, then reaches for the martini glass in front of her and downs another sip. 

 

"How 'bout water?"

 

"Did you have fun tonight?" She ignores my suggestion.

 

"Sure, I stayed upstairs all night."

 

She flashes a confused glance over her shoulder and peers up at the railing surrounding my bedroom. "Oh. That was probably smart of you."

 

"Nothing about this night was smart."

 

"Look at your place, Cam!" She looks around like she's just noticing the trash, empty glasses, bottles, and all the shit these people left. "These were grown adults."

 

I scoff. "That's debatable."

 

"I would help you clean up, but I--" And then she does her wobbly best to slide off her barstool and land on her feet. 

 

"Don't worry about it. You want me to get you a cab?" I start toward her, and I feel my brow pull together with concern when she reaches out to steady herself on the back of the chair.

 

"Cameron."

"Hey." I land beside her and prop her up with an arm around her waist. "You're alright, I got you. I can ride with you. Make sure you get home."

 

Her head falls against my shoulder and she mumbles into my t-shirt. "I wanna stay here."

Hesitating a moment, I glance down as I steady her. She reaches across my waist and grips me there, squeezing the fabric of my shirt in her fist as she lets out another soft pained moan.

“Yeah,” I answer and clear my throat. “Let’s uh…” Then I look up toward my room, gauging the likelihood of her being able to make it up my staircase with me. “You can take my bed, okay?”

With another groan, she tips her head back to look up at me. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I’m good.” With a deep inhale, she manages to ease herself off of me, backing up a step, and then holds her hands up as if to prove herself. “See? I’m good.”

“You’re good.” I grab her unopened bottle of water from the counter.

She rocks a step on her heels, then plants one foot over the other, crossing at the ankles to ground herself. Despite her claims, I scoop her around the waist anyway and turn her toward the staircase.

Lazily, her head falls back and she sort of hums this gravelly note in her throat before a teasing, low laugh rolls through her and it’s killing me that she’s this beautiful and this close to me and this obliterated. 

“You’re so tall,” she murmurs. “Cameron’s so tall.”

I laugh softly. “Alright.”

“And your eyes are blue.”

“They are. You’re right.” I nod and she staggers against me before we make it to the stairs. 

“They’re so blue.” Her palm lands in the center of my chest and she grasps my shirt once more as she halts her steps. “And that’s good. I like that,” she rambles. 

“Okay good. Are you ready to climb?”

“They make me feel like I can trust you,” she continues, peering up at me, thoughtfully squinting one eye. “Brown eyes are shady,” she whispers. “Full of shit, full of secrets.”

I have to laugh at her again. “You have brown eyes.”

A soft giggle rumbles in her chest. “I’m shady though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hm.” She trains her gaze on the stairs, a line of worry gradually forming on her brow. “Oh shit.”

“Alright, Shady.” I bend down, grasp her wrist and bump my shoulder up against the tops of her thighs. “You ready? This’ll be easier.”

“Oh my god,” she mumbles. Then I stand upright, holding her around the backs of her legs while she tips at the waist over my shoulder and she lets out this giggly scream.

“You alright?” I call out, making my way up the staircase. “Try not to throw up.”

She keeps laughing, holding onto my t-shirt and I feel her pull it up there at my back. She kicks her legs near my head, and one at a time, I hear the heavy _thunk_ sound of her shoes dropping from her feet and clattering on the steps. 

“Cameron, fuck!”

She’s still cracking up as I make it to the top and to the edge of my bed. I toss the bottle of water there. “Ready?” I ask.

“Don’t drop me!”

“I’m not gonna drop you. I’m gonna put you down slow, okay?” 

And then carefully, I lean all the way down, holding her until I feel her sink to the bed with her arms still draped over my shoulders. She pulls me against her. There’s a shift that registers in my brain, in the pit of my chest, as soon as I linger there on top of her a second too long.

I’m about to pull back when she digs fingers into the back of my shirt and it’s just like this fog of her breathless giggles, the closeness of her, the flick of soft black eyelashes. The urgent rake of her fingertips on my shoulder blades, into my hair, and then the warmth of her lips on mine. Her kiss seizes everything inside of me -- I swear my pulse stops, my breath, time, all that shit, it ceases to exist. I don’t know where I am, I just feel her all around me, her heartbeat sustains mine. Her mouth is pure heat and it traps me with with an easy, lush stroke of her tongue. Underneath me, I feel the rise and fall of her hips as they press against me, her knees at my sides, and it isn’t until she lets out this quiet, airy whimper that I grasp some awareness, something more than just my five idiot, self-indulgent senses. Fuck.

My lips slip from hers and I tilt my head down.

“Shit, Sloane,” I murmur against her chest. “I’m sorry.”

The sensation leaves me so harshly. I’m a complete fucking disgrace. Not to mention a dick considering Sloane’s current state of awareness. Every natural inclination inside of me is to dwell on that mistake, but I have to let it go for her sake.

This little embarrassed moan sounds from over my head and I glance up to see her squeeze her eyes shut tightly before a lazy laugh blows through her. She slaps a hand over her face. “Oh my god.”

I bite my bottom lip and with a shake of my head, manage to laugh too as I slide off of her. “Alright shady brown eyes, time for bed.”

She keeps groaning and reaches a limp arm out to me. 

I swallow hard as I stand upright, steeling my nerves, forcing myself to find the present, to not disappear somewhere else inside my head.

“I need to take my clothes off,” she mumbles as I help her up and off the bed. Jesus.

With my hands on her shoulders from behind, I steer her through my room. “We’re headed to the bathroom.”

“Mm-hm.” With uneven, lethargic steps she makes her way, then groans again, “Oh no,” before her pace shifts, more purposeful and she breaks away from me and runs into the bathroom. 

The door slams shut and I remain on the other side. There’s a pause, and two seconds later, I hear the sound of Sloane throwing up. 

With a nod of acceptance, I turn to pace my room, aimlessly swinging my arms across my chest while I wait.

After a minute, I call out to her. “You alright?”

The only response I get is the flush of the toilet. I return to the door. “Sloane?” And I still get no answer. Gently with my knuckle, I knock then ease open the door. I see her there on the floor, her head in her folded arms on the closed lid of the toilet, and I step inside. “Hey.” I reach for her arm, drape it around my neck and help her up. “You’re okay,” I assure her. 

She tilts her head back, her hair falling out of her face. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop saying you’re sorry.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

“Do you feel any better?”

With a furrowed brow, she nods.

“I’ll get you some clothes.” I leave and pull the door almost all the way closed and I hear the running water at the sink as I turn to my closet. There at the shelves, I reach in one of the bins and find a spare, unopened toothbrush from the dentist. I stick my arm through the crack in the door and offer it to her and she takes it a few seconds later.

Ferris has told me to move on from Julie for years, introducing me to friends of his, attempting to set me up, but I was never interested. At one point, he had suggested that I _bang one out_ just to _get it out of my system_ , and he should know that’s some shit I can’t deal with. He’s finally eased off and accepted that that’s not how I operate. 

With one hand, I rest my weight against the wall outside my bathroom and hang my head. This would be much easier to dismiss as meaningless if Sloane hadn’t been the first person I’ve kissed since my ex-fiancée two years ago. It’d be different if she wasn’t my friend since high school, if we hadn’t gotten significantly closer in the years that we worked together, if she wasn’t my friend’s girlfriend… ex-girlfriend, whatever. If none of those factors were in play, I could write that off as a stupid kiss that didn’t count. 

A meaningless kiss shouldn’t fuck me up like this. 

“Cam?” I hear her voice and I turn to look at her where she eases the door open. 

“Yeah.”

There’s a more sober clarity to her eyes that wasn’t there before. Timidly, she peeks out from around the door. There’s a glimpse of the curve of her bare shoulder, the graceful dip in her collarbone. As if I can claim any shred of courtesy, I angle away to my closet. 

“Can I borrow a t-shirt or something?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, of course.” And I grasp the first article of clothing I see hanging there -- my #9 Gordie Howe Red Wings jersey and tug it from its hanger before I pass it off to her.

I slip my hands into my pockets and make my way over to the bed where I sit at the end and wait. After a moment, she emerges. I glance up and I hate how effortlessly my heart responds, burning a hole in my chest when I look at her wearing that red jersey and nothing else.

I let my head drop. “Shit,” I whisper aloud and try to force some common sense to my brain, rubbing my palms across my eyes. Huffing a cleansing breath, I stand up straight. 

“How do you feel?”

“Not great,” she rasps, tugging all of her hair over one shoulder before she reaches for the covers to pull them down. 

“You’ll feel better after you sleep,” I assure her. I flip off the lamp on the nightstand and head for the stairs.

“You can sleep here.” Her voice vibrates through me in the darkness and I have to laugh at such a cruel invitation. “I’ll be downstairs,” I announce, glancing back at her once more to see her curl into the pillow before I head down.

Once downstairs, I consider how much it will bother me to go to sleep with my apartment this much of a mess. It hits me how tired I am, and without much more thought, I cut out the lights and fall across the couch.

___

After half a night spent in and out of sleep, I give up when the sun assaults me through the windows. 

I spend the early part of the day cleaning up, throwing away trash, cursing Ferris’s name. Even though I did get a text from him that said **Sorry about your house. I’m coming over later to clean up. Don’t worry about it.** That’s a fucking joke. I dismissed it and continue my trashing efforts. I take empty beer and wine bottles outside. I wipe down counters, sweep, disinfect until it consumes all of my focus. It’s therapeutic that way.

It’s when I’m making a pot of coffee that I glance up and see Sloane coming down the stairs, still in that jersey that hangs on her like a sack, it’s almost comical -- the way it engulfs her, hides her hands -- if it weren’t painfully sexy -- the way it skims the tops of her thighs when she pads into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” I greet her.

She just makes this scrunchy face at me as she folds her arms over her chest. “I can’t even look at you this morning.” With a shake of her head, her eyes close.

“Why not?”

“Cameron!” Then she smiles and adjusts herself on a barstool at the counter. “I acted like a fucking asshole last night.”

“Nah.”

“Oh my god,” she mumbles as she props her elbows on the countertop and hides her face in her hands. “I have to apologize.”

“Sloane, you didn’t do anything.”

“Cameron, I couldn’t walk!” She gestures behind her to the staircase. “I puked in your bathroom. Ugghh! I’m so sorry.”

 

I chuckle at her and busy myself pulling a mug from the cabinet. “It wasn’t that bad. Coffee?”

“Yes, thank you,” she says. “I have this… fuzzy memory of Dan from marketing--”

I know the amusement shows on my face as I set a cup in front of her. “You were very close to having a wild night at Beat City with Dan.”

Her expression shifts to a horrified one before she covers her face with her hand. “Kill me,” she mutters. “Well thank you for shutting that down.”

“I wasn’t about to let you leave with him.”

“I shouldn’t have even let myself get into that situation,” she laments with a shake of her head. She peers down at her cup, pressing fingertips into her hair for a quiet moment. “I saw Ferris leave with that one woman.”

Swallowing, I take a second before I acknowledge that with a nod. “I think she’s one of his clients.”

“Cameron.” She fixes me with a doubtful glare.

 _Distract her… I don’t want to upset her._ Those had been my instructions from Ferris. I guess I failed, but it’s not my job to keep his conscience clear. I can’t even handle my own.

I struggle with the right thing to say. I always have on the few occasions Sloane has come to me on the topic of Ferris and his intentions with her. “I don’t think he means to hurt you.”

She offers no other indication of her thoughts on the matter, just leaves me with a mysterious smirk as she raises her coffee cup to her lips. “Anyway,” she murmurs. “I should go. Thank you for providing such fabulous accommodations.” She smiles, flashing shiny eyes at me as she begins to slide off her chair. “Five stars, would highly recommend.”

“Anytime.”

“And your bed is very comfortable,” she adds, stopping to arch one eyebrow.

I stall over my sip of coffee, but cooly manage to get it down after a beat, then mirror the look she gives me, quirking the same eyebrow. Leaving that exchange wordless, she laughs softly and turns toward the staircase.

As she makes her way up, the gentle shift of her hips beneath my jersey with each step baits my shameless gaze. She holds her hands out as she climbs. “Look, I’m doing it all by myself.”

I glance down and I can feel the half smile on my face. It starts to nudge that deadbolt lock -- the one that keeps those feelings, that heat that swirls inside of me for her, cornered and kept at bay. Biting my lip, I mentally restrain it, will it back to where it was. I’ve always been able to. But that was before I kissed her, before I knew how her lips felt. So now I’m fucked until I can forget.

She returns down the stairs, dressed now in the same black shorts and sweater from the night before. She stops for her heels that were still there on the floor, then looks at me, ready to go.

She sighs heavily, combs a hand through her hair and starts toward the door. I meet her there and pull it open for her. “Thank you again,” she says.

I just respond with a look, a slight curve at my lips and her gaze lingers on mine for a thoughtful moment before she turns and steps across the threshold. 

“I’ll see ya.” I’m about to ease the door closed when her hand lands on it and she urges it back open and comes closer.

Her mouth opens slightly and she gives me this narrowed squint. “I kissed you last night, didn’t I?”

My answer falters and I just sort of exhale this unexpected laugh. I nod, unfazed, amused. I’m not quite sure how else to respond.

“Didn’t I?”

I smile, running a hand across my chin. “Yeah.”

That same misbehaving eyebrow curves upward and she nods with me. “Uh-huh, I remember.”

“Full disclosure… I kissed you back,” I confess. “So… don’t think it was all you.”

Her brow lifts in surprise and she just looks at me in stunned amusement. I laugh with her and then affect this blameless shrug of my shoulders.

She glances away in thought, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip, presses them together as if she can still taste me there. Then with a soft giggle, she brings her fingers to her mouth, nipping at the tip of her thumb with her teeth. All we can do is look at each other and contemplate how much we should be laughing.

“Well,” she starts, then looks off down the hallway. “That might be the one thing I did last night that I don’t regret.” And then she leaves me with this teasing, curvy smile, and before I can even process what that means, she turns and walks away.

I lean out the doorway -- because I’m hopeless and dumbfounded -- and watch her. I can feel the confusion still etched on my brow.

And just as I’m about to write that comment off, that surely I’m the only one hanging onto that moment, she turns to glance back on her way out. And if I thought that kiss fucked me up, her smile before she steps onto the elevator dismantles me completely as her voice rings down my hall -- “See you Monday.”


End file.
